The Woman Of Sacrifice

Who can tell when someone actually dies after being buried?

Of course everyone can do that because most believe that the dead are buried because they have been taken by death. And when they live, it's on the ground. Few of those who would acknowledge that the dead may not be dead at the time of their being put into the coffin, read long, mournful prayers and then be buried in the use of sultry graveyard. Some who die may remain on the ground and start out in the morning taking a cup of coffee, reading the newspaper before going to work, then driving or just tossing and turning in a public vehicle, occasionally checking the clock on his wrist. Whatever it is, death and life have very thin limits; Breathing, heartbeat, blood flow even rotting flesh is never really valid to identify if a person has died. That's why I left early in the morning on the train by myself on the train the ticket was sent by Uncle Handi in the mail, and had no choice but to follow his help, instead of having to watch my sisters starve to death after the small town where we lived was engulfed by drought. Most of the cattle died, and occasionally grandpa had to butcher them before he literally lost his life for the meat. When it is obvious that most of them are just bones and skin, as are the other starving humans. We had long asked the Dutch government for help but even if they were reluctant to do so except for a few grains of corn that the village chief unevenly distributed.

"Do a good job there." So my mother had said, just as I was coming out of the house carrying a large bag of my dingy clothes. I could understand how hard it was for her to let me go, especially after dad and brother were sent to Surabaya by the government for a job we never understood, then disappeared without a word of how the earth was swallowed up. Maybe, in fact, both of them are dead. Nobody knows. "Say thank you to your uncle. Without her help, we'd be dead by now, which is why by the time you get there you'll have to be devoted. Do a good job. Follow your uncle's methods to stay at home and please his host."

I nodded. "You guys take care of yourselves, too."

"Don't forget to write, Mbak Yu."

My hand touched the little Dyah's head, kissed it and then left in a rented rickshaw. It's not the truth that parting or leaving scares me, but the worry that they will be able to survive in the village while I go on the road to make a living in the city. I could see only streets now through the jungle and villages along the train. A wealth of the Dutch built on the suffering of commoners like us. If my father were still here, would our lives be any better? Is it possible that I can have the wedding with Mr. Kuswono? Well, of course I understand that her family wants a daughter-in-law from a respected and not a penniless woman like me.

"Where are you going, Miss?"

"To Batavia, Sir."

"Me too."

I made up the old man's pleasantries beside me with as friendly a smile as possible. He's a young Javanese man with a very polished look. Perhaps one of the scholars and the like. What a surprising amount of hospitality. Perhaps this is why you wanted me to look nice in the clothes that he sent me. Clothes can make a person more respected. If only I had used my gomezes, it would have been obvious from the start that the railroad would have asked me to come down and be accused of begging on the train. Not natural.

"What family are you from?"

"How, Sir?"

"Oh, no. I feel like I've known you before?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but you seem to have the wrong person."

"You're right, miss."

I smiled again, and then a train attendant came and offered the passengers food but I refused. I don't have enough money when I have to buy lunch on the train. That's why she gave me a pack of dry corn cookies. Of course I turned him down because he and my two brothers were just as needy. 'you have to eat it. I didn't want you to starve yourself along the way, 'he said, forcing a pack of cookies into a bag.

*

*

"Where have you been?" To a white man, the gentleman in front of me asked in an exasperated voice. While inside the cart the lights had been turned on. "Can't you just sit back and not wander around? How many women have you dated today? "He continued, then glanced at me briefly followed a feeling of discomfort.

I know he's probably embarrassed, but it's also my first time seeing white people get scolded by natives like us. Because when I was growing up, the village environment taught that we could never be equal. Not making friends. That's why I looked down.

"Hello, Miss!" The Dutch Lord greeted me. "What's your name?"

"Oh, my goodness! You're scaring him."

"Am I creepy?"

"Maybe."

"Fuck you, Darman!"

Then the two of them laughed together. There's no line at all between the two. Until the Dutch Lord brought something out of his purse a chocolate. He opened and offered to his friend, sir-which I later found out was darman took a piece of it and handed me the wrappings.

"You want some?"

"Huh?" Instead of answering I posted confusion. Awkward. And as a result, both men laughed. Laugh at my stupidity.

"My goodness! "Says the Dutch Lord. "What's wrong with you?"

"You're afraid of him?" said Mr. Darman.

I'm still not answering. Confused.

"Is my face scary? "Asked the Dutch Lord. He shook the train window and smiled. "Calm down, Miss! I'm not gonna eat you. I only offer chocolates. Are you afraid of me because I'm such a occupier?"

What'd he say?

Did I hurt him?

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"It's okay, Miss! "He said with a big smile. "I understand my fears. It doesn't matter. It's perfectly natural. But, really I just want to offer you this chocolate. There was nothing I ever meant to do to upset you."

I swallowed a rough saliva, then took the chocolate he still proposed to me slowly and broke it. I put it in my mouth to feel an entirely foreign sweet tinge. It was my first time eating chocolate, even though it was said my grandfather had worked on a cocoa plantation. It's so good that I feel my eyes burning for it. - why?

"Miss, does it taste bad?"

Firmly, I shake my head. "No, Sir?"

"Then why are you crying?"

I just noticed that my cheeks are wet.

"I'm just touched."

"Because of the chocolate?"

I nodded. "It's the best taste I've ever had."

"Really?"

"I'm not lying."

The Dutch Lord looks very pleased. "I made it myself."

"Really?"

"Technically I am cooking the recipe."

"You're amazing."

"What is this," Mr. Darman interrupted our conversation, "the first time for you to eat chocolate?"

I nodded. "Right, Sir."

Slowly Mr Darman turned to his fellow, and the Dutch Lord's face was no longer the same. There's irony in it. He cracked his back as if he were deeply upset. Could I have said something wrong?

People burst out of the train like ants lining up.

I was looking for Uncle among the people at the station, because he had promised to pick me up. Could he have forgotten? Or was I supposed to wait a little longer because he had to do his work? Of course this type of morning would be a busy storeroom for him and many other workers. The townspeople may seem more ambitious. Unlike the rural people who know each other, they seem indifferent and avoid unnecessary hospitality, even when I ask where to ask for their help just ignore them. Until finally a station attendant asked me to wait on the long bench at the edge of the platform so as not to disturb the other passengers. While my stomach grew more painful. My corn flakes are gone. Yesterday I Shared it with Mr. Darman and Mr. Dirk. I didn't know they liked country food.

"Is anyone home yet?"

"Lord and Lord," I responded to the two young men who were somehow back in front of me. As I recall